Cosmopolitan

Chapter 8

And so the evening passed. Alex couldn't help being a bit jealous of Clarence and Ivor Novello, who were having a great time. He caught himself thinking that he could simply contribute to the conversation, but his pride forbade him to do so. Oh, his damned pride! Besides, he had absolutely no reason to be proud. He knew that his dignity had been virtually non-existent in the eyes of others since he had been thrown out of Eton, yet he had at least some personal dignity, and so he would have bitten off his tongue rather than admit that his dislike had been unfounded.
Finally, when he could no longer bear to be ignored, he stood up from the table and disappeared into the dancing crowd. Clarence called out after him, but he didn't pay any attention to him.

One of the Cosmopolitan's heavily made-up, patterned stockings-wearing in-house girls was standing next to the dance floor, obviously waiting for a dance partner. Alex, who was still in a terrible mood, took her by the hand and dragged her with him. She looked up in surprise.
"Oh, gee, I thank you," she said, "you're a nice chappie, just sweeping a girl along with you. That'll be tuppence, please, will it?
"Pardon? Since when does it cost anything to dance with a pretty girl?"
"Oh, you're awful. I'm a professional, you know."
Alex stared at her.
"Yeah, yeah, I've seen your sort before. Hanging on mum's skirts until they're old and wrinkled and pretending to be Casanova. But look, mister, it wasn't my dream to be a tart and you'll give me my dough or I'll complain to the manager and you'll be out of here before you can say "oops"."
Alex listened with growing enthusiasm to this rant in a lovely Cockney accent.

"Now, now," he finally said. "Of course you'll get your money. I had no idea."
Softened a bit, she nestled into him.
"You're not so bad after all," she finally said. "I've seen you here a few times before. I always thought you were a fairy. Not that I mind. You gotta be able to take a thing like that around here."
Alex smiled briefly. "Well, I am. Sort of. I'm both."
She threw her head back and laughed out loud. "You're getting weirder and weirder," she cried.
"Thank you," Alex said.
He looked over his shoulder and saw that Clarence and Ivor Novello were still talking animatedly. He decided to forget the sting he felt in his heart and turned back to his partner.
"I am Alex, by the way," he said and kissed her hand with perfect form.
"Very pleased," she said and curtsied. "I'm Maisie Shaw."

They danced for a while without saying anything.
"Well, what are you up to tonight, Alex?" she asked tenderly and batted her eyelashes. She knew exactly how her job worked.
He smiled mockingly. "Well, you are brash," he said. "But since my company does not seem to be particularly interested in me, I might as well spend the evening with you, Miss Shaw."
"Why don't you call me Maisie," she said. "Only the gentlemen who didn't like me call me 'Miss Shaw'."
"What ruffians," Alex replied indignantly, offering her his arm.
"Just a minute," she said and held out her hand. "Where's my money?"
"Oh yes!" Alex gave her the coins.
Then she hooked into him and together they walked up the wide stairs leading to the private rooms.
This is the last step, Alex thought. Now I've finally gone off the rails.
He smiled at the thought.